


A Knight's Duty

by ayurie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I reply to everyone, I'm Bad At Tagging, Parenthood, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Relationship, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayurie/pseuds/ayurie
Summary: Despite the war's end, House Galatea lingers on the verge of collapse, and Ingrid accepts a wealthy nobleman's marriage proposal to save her family once and for all. Sylvain, though tolerant of her decision, cannot ignore the aching in his chest that reveals a painful truth when it's far too late.Set after the events of Azure Moon.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 115
Kudos: 253





	1. Goodbye

Sylvain was a liar.

He had grown so used to his mask of cheerful carelessness, he sometimes couldn't tell which of his feelings was true. Words of adulation rang before he could feel them on his mouth. Twisting reality was as simple as breathing, so long as it served him.

Spotting a fellow liar was no trouble.

The monastery at Garreg Mach was reclaiming its life from the fallen Empire's clutches. This year, the Horsebow Moon not only graced the harvest festivals scattered across the land, but the endless victory celebration brought to life by all in Fódlan. As if the stars had descended from the heavens, millions of lights adorned villages and cities alike, for the people danced and sang way after the sky grew dark. Children cried of happiness as they reunited with their families, war-hardened soldiers could rest and, for the first time in years, the promise of a better future brought a smile to everyone’s faces.

But Ingrid’s didn’t reach her eyes.

Although his childhood friend had joined in the festivities with the rest of the Blue Lions, Sylvain knew something was wrong. She spent too much time in the greenhouse looking at—not tending to—the flowers. She sat on the edge of the fishing pond, contemplating some spot in the distance. When she exercised, her blows were so ferocious and clumsy that he feared for the training dummy. 

During their childhood, Sylvain’s usual strategy to deal with Ingrid’s unspoken annoyance was to shut up and back off. After a couple of days, she came back to normal. As he grew older and became more familiar with the concept of empathy, he started to ask her what troubled her…which only seemed to upset her more as she growled that she was fine. Now, Sylvain had finally found a middle ground. He needed to reassure Ingrid, maybe through a knight’s tale for her collection or a meaty meal, and let her decide whether she wanted to talk about it or not.

Hearing her voice through his door that afternoon served as his answer.

“Come in,” Sylvain said as he sat up on his bed. 

A slouching, sweat-covered Ingrid entered. With a heavy sigh, she closed the door behind her using her full body weight. She had just finished demolishing another dummy, he guessed.

“Hey,” she mumbled.

“Yeesh, you look terrible.” He threw her a small towel that she easily caught.

She shot him a glare. “Why, thanks. You know, I’m starting to reconsider my choice to come here.”

“Wow, so soon? At least satisfy my curiosity a bit.” He patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Come on, out with it.”

Her frown softened as she let out another sigh and complied. “Am I that obvious?” she asked, her eyes still refusing to meet his, instead fixed on the floor.

“I’d like to think that I’m just that perceptive, but…yeah, you’re not fooling anyone. Never been really great at that.”

She gave a weak grin and pushed him gently. “At least I’m not allergic to sincerity.”

He had made her smile. That small victory pushed him to continue. “Hey, we’re not talking about me now, are we?” He sat closer and put a hand on her shoulder, urging her to look at him. “Something’s been bothering you for way too long. You know you can tell me anything, Ing. Didn’t you say we’d always be friends?”

Ingrid was quiet. When her gaze fell to the ground once again, Sylvain waited. She wouldn’t have so much trouble speaking if it wasn’t a big deal. That thought made his heart beat faster and the worry build up, threatening to combust. 

He was about to break the silence when she took a breath. “I wanted to tell you that I... I have one last duty to attend to, Sylvain. For my family’s sake.”

He said nothing, a silent plea for her to continue.

“I wrote to my father about a week ago, and just received a response.” Ingrid paused. “I...will depart for Galatea at daybreak to meet my fiancé. The wedding is scheduled for the next moon.”

Sylvain stared at her. A hundred thoughts stormed through his mind, yet the only word that came out of his mouth was an almost inaudible “What?”

“We both knew this would happen, and yet...” She studied his expression and huffed out a mirthless laugh. “You’re just as disappointed as I am.”

He stood up. “But... But the war is over, Ingrid. Faerghus will get right back up on its feet, and your House—“

“And my House will still be in shambles. Our situation was precarious before the fighting broke out. Now, we are completely devastated.”

Sylvain was speechless. He recalled the day of the Millennium Festival, when Felix and he encountered her on their way to the monastery. Her uneven locks of hair now hung above her shoulders and red tainted the tip of the silver lance in her grip. With Galatea on the brink of collapse, the Count had urged her to marry as soon as possible. Sylvain was glad she had run away, but guilt gnawed at Ingrid day after day. She never cried, but some nights she revived her habit of locking herself in her room or sat on the cathedral’s pews to write letters she would never send.

Ingrid wrapped her arms around herself. “I was a fool to let our victory blind me from the problems we still face. Wounds don’t heal overnight, and I should have that clear by now.” She looked him in the eye. “Sylvain, when I left Galatea, I just made everything worse for them. For us. I can’t... I can’t neglect my responsibility any longer.”

A million other options swarmed him, begging for his permission to manifest on his tongue. Sylvain wanted nothing more than for her to escape from this burden. Perhaps it was selfish, but the idea of his dear friend giving her life to someone who would only use her left a foul taste on his mouth. She didn’t deserve that.

But Ingrid cared for her duty, unlike him, and wouldn’t be happy if she were to abandon her family to serve King Dimitri. She had the heart of a knight, which beat only for the happiness of those around. 

How he loathed that. 

“...You’ll really be giving your dream up...” was the only thing he managed to say.

Although her smile carried a deep sadness, at least it was genuine. “Sylvain. You’re always so ridiculous. Don’t you realize I got to become a knight, if only for a time? This last half-year... Truly, it has been the greatest honor fighting alongside His Highness, and alongside you. I can’t put into words how much it means to me.”

He sat beside her, defeated. “You deserve so much more than just half a year.”

“I guess, but I’ll take what I can get.” 

Sylvain opened his arms and Ingrid crashed into the hug before he could think. He cradled the back of her neck against his shoulder. When her cold tears wet his clothes and hair, he tightened their hold, as if she would disappear the moment he let go. Words evaded him once again, so he hoped to muster all the gratitude and care he could and kissed her cheek.

After all they had been through, it was unbearable to say goodbye. 

Through muffled sobs, Ingrid whispered, “Thank you, my dear friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh my gosh, this story idea took over my life, I swear. I haven't written a lot of FE fanfic in a while, but Three Houses rekindled my love. I'm a little rusty, so I'd really appreciate to hear your thoughts on the chapter! Thank you!


	2. Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the confines of her chambers in Reiner Manor, Ingrid realizes how hesitant she is to reveal vital truths.

“Hmm, no…”

Ingrid crumpled up another piece of parchment. She intended to throw it in the bin beside her oak desk, but since it was overflowing with her other failed attempts at letters, the rubbish fell on the floor. She sighed. For some reason, an urge to clean didn’t bother to manifest, nor did shame at wasting loads of paper.

She leaned back on her chair and stretched out her arms to soothe her aching back. Nothing sounded right. Embroidering detailed accounts of the past moons to her father and brothers took mere minutes. Her progress staggered when her allies were involved, since she was still growing accustomed to a life where she didn’t share every day with them, but she could manage.

So what was so hard about writing to him?

She stared out the arched window. Countless snowflakes built the glowing white landscape that she recognized as her homeland. However, the view felt foreign, as if she was travelling on military campaigns throughout the Empire or Alliance even now. She came back to reality whenever she remembered that she had stayed in one location for months and that those territories no longer existed. Ingrid wondered how it could be possible to miss those times while feeling like she still lived in them.

An epiphany jolted the former warrior from her seat. Determined to finish the message this time, she dipped her owl feather in ink and began.

_Lone Moon, Year 1186._

_To my cherished friend Sylvain,_

_How are you? It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, about seven months. This would be my 11th letter now, but the end of the year warrants a bit of reflecting, so I figured I’d write to you again. Besides, I still haven’t received a response. I know you aren’t really the margrave type, what with the loads of work involved, but I expected you’d manage a little better! Or maybe you’re not even getting these?_

She considered that option for a second, thinking she might need to have a talk with her messenger later.

_Anyway, in case you haven’t, I’ll summarize them for you. The Reiner family seemed to be as impatient as mine, so Baron Philip and I were wed almost immediately after I arrived home at the start of the Wyvern Moon. I wish I could’ve invited you and our friends, but it was a simple ceremony with only our relatives. I meant it when I said “impatient”, you know._

Ingrid stared at the candle’s dancing flame. She had never considered having a grand wedding, not even on the numerous occasions her father brought up the subject. Now, it seemed like it could have been a perfect excuse to reunite with all her loved ones.

She pushed that thought aside to keep writing.

_While it’s certainly different from Galatea, living in the western Reiner Manor isn’t unpleasant. I even have my own chambers and servants that I swear materialize instantly when I ring a bell. Is this how you and Felix have always lived? It’s almost tiresome. They don’t even let me do my laundry! As for my husband (Seiros, I still need to get used to that), although he isn’t very talkative, he’s polite enough. I can see he’s pressured to carry on his bloodline as well, so we at least have that in common. You were very worried when I left the monastery, considering the unsavory tendencies of some of my previous suitors, so I’m thankful to tell you everything is alright._

_But enough about me. How is everyone faring at the margravate? Are your parents well? This winter has been especially harsh. How are you feeling? I heard from His Majesty that you engaged in battle with the chief of one of Sreng’s most distinguished clans mere moments before you held a peace conference with him! I should have known you’d still be as careless as ever. Nonetheless, I’m glad you’re set on improving relations with them. Maybe I should accompany you on your next mission to ensure you don’t get your head chopped off, huh?_

Perhaps she should scratch that last part. There was no way of knowing if her husband would allow her to travel such a lengthy distance anytime soon. Ingrid’s gaze drifted to the starlit sky and to the line where it met the earth, wondering where in the distance lay the territories of Gautier. She recalled the long halls that carried the echo of her steps and voice as she ran around with her playmates. The fountains in the courtyard made for perfect hiding spots whenever they had snowball fights, which somehow always ended with her hitting Sylvain in the face and Dimitri stifling a laugh. At night, they all huddled around the fireplace to protect themselves from the fierce northern cold, listening to Felix and Glenn tell legends of chivalry.

It dawned on Ingrid just how long it had been since she last saw her friends.

_I’m worried about you, Sylvain. Where are you? Are you avoiding me? Please, reply to me. I want to know if you’re OK._

He used to write to her at least once every few weeks. During wartime, the remaining Blue Lions communicated with impeccable punctuality to ensure the others of their safety. It wasn’t as necessary in times of peace, but Felix and she kept the momentum. Ingrid could understand a month or two without correspondence, but seven?

Before she could ask herself if Sylvain truly didn’t want to talk to her, a wave of nausea hit her. She hunched over with a hand over her mouth and the other on the desk, making the pot of ink tremble dangerously. It didn’t last long, thank goodness, but she knew it would return.

It was a cruel reminder to stop putting off that one topic.

_If I’m being honest, I’m at a loss for words. You know better than anyone that it tends to happen when I need to deliver important news, don’t you?_

Ingrid closed her eyes shut, as if she would return to her classroom at the Academy, the halls of Gautier or her dormitory in Galatea once she opened them. Instead, the stone walls of her room in Reiner greeted her when she did.

Taking a deep breath, she finished writing the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably guess what those news were... If not, the next chapter will make them clear enough (I'm so sorry Ingrid I love you) Anyway, please tell me what you think of the story so far!


	3. Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not long after reading Ingrid's eleventh letter, Sylvain forces himself to face reality and travels to Reiner Manor.

Sylvain had almost forgotten what a warm breeze felt like.

Living in Gautier territory meant suffering through an eternal winter. Although the noble heir preferred icy temperatures, he had never grown completely used to the kind of cold that permeates the skin and numbs the body. During his trips to the south of Faerghus, he fell in love with the weathers that weren’t set on destroying his morale and instead welcomed him to the sunlit spring unknown to his home.

Urging his trotting horse to a more relaxed walk as he descended into the valley, Sylvain wiped the sweat from his brow. His trip through the bountiful Tailtean Plains and the western lands in Charon had brought him to the Barony of Reiner. The mountainous region was small and undistinguished. For that, it looked as if unaware of the bloodstained conflict that had plagued the continent mere months ago. A malicious envy clung to his chest before he smashed it down.

His hands rose to protect his ears from the piercing shrieks that rang through the air, and his heart almost burst out when he lifted his head to see a pair of wyverns circling around the mountains. The goddess had been merciful this time, however, since they bore green scales. He caught his breath. Tamed wyverns. Records back at Gautier noted that the governing family bred and provided mounts for the meager anti-Dukedom forces during the war, gesture that not only gained them the favor of the King, but piles of money.

 _The Galateas had better received a generous dowry,_ he thought.

He gave into the compulsion he had developed during his journey and reached into his satchel, counting the letters with his fingers until the knowledge that all eleven were still intact put him at ease. Sylvain blew scant hair off his forehead, feeling ridiculous. It was amazing how he could be another burden for Ingrid without even being beside her. When they were younger, he didn’t care for her insistence on worrying over every unlucky soul who crossed her path, and learned to turn her sermons into meaningless noise in his mind. Now, his heart stung just thinking about how much pain he had caused her. Could he even explain his sudden disappearance?

Sylvain huffed. It had taken him until Ingrid was wedded to realize what a massive fool he was. When her first letter arrived at the Margravate, he flew to his writing desk with a quill in hand as per routine. There was so much he wanted to talk to her about. His exhausting new position, the fierce clans of Sreng and how much he missed her were few in the ocean of topics, so he began planning a list in his head to include a bit of everything.

Then, he read her message.

There was nothing unexpected in it. She only informed him of her wedding to Lord Philip Elias Reiner, like she had done back at Garreg Mach. Yet he could have sworn he was hearing the news for the first time.

_Seiros, she really did it. She really got married._

After some time, the epidemic of proposals that Ingrid had to endure after Glenn’s death lost meaning. Sylvain might have even felt a pang of jealousy once upon a time, but those unnamed, faceless suitors couldn’t hold her attention if they tried. With more tangible problems at hand, he became quick to dismiss them. _This._ This was real.

Ink dripped from his plume, staining the parchment. The downpour of ideas that had once overwhelmed him turned into a desolate wasteland. He tried to salvage anything from the wreckage, but his duties soon demanded his attention. Hours later, he forced his heavy eyelids open to drag his feet to his chambers, but sleep abandoned him to be haunted by a new realization.

He couldn’t help but laugh. Ingrid had once told him to consider his actions before following through with them, lest they come around to bite him. He wished he had followed the advice to the letter.

Although what he regretted most were the deeds he never carried out.

And so he postponed replying to her for as long as he could. That way, the pain in his chest dwindled and he could focus on handling his domain. Envelopes sealed with the Crest of Daphnel arrived at his doorstep every month. Each time, he forced himself to write replies, and not one saw success. His father, though stunned at the huge workload his son suddenly decided to take on, approved of the productive method of distraction. Before he knew it, winter turned to spring. The dawn of a new year motivated him to become the leader of a prosperous land.

Around that time, he read her eleventh letter. His persistent creative burnout subsided at last, allowing him to write a simple response. Not long after he had entrusted it to his fastest messenger, he began preparations for his departure.

Now, the tall gates of Reiner Manor welcomed him with deep, uncertain creaks.

He hadn't come unannounced, yet the servants gaped when they saw a beaming Margrave Gautier casually waving at them. He guessed it was because he had failed to specify an arrival date beforehand. In spite of that, the noble visitor was received with open arms. One of the servant girls hurried to take his horse to the stables and another offered him a lukewarm cup of tea. She explained that, while Lord Reiner was out on business, the Lady of the house would come greet him.

When they left him alone in the great hall, Sylvain fidgeted with his spoon and stared at the tiny ripples in a poor attempt to soothe his nerves. How would she react to seeing him? Considering how vehemently he had avoided responding to her letters, he came to accept the fact that she would slap him. At least, he hoped that she would. Not only because he deserved it, but because it would reassure him that she still was the same old girl that wouldn’t tolerate his unruly behavior.

A terrifying prospect struck him. How much had she changed, had the circumstances made her change? And now, _now_ that she was—

"Hey."

His gaze shot up to find Ingrid, a small smile gently crinkling the corners of her green eyes. His heart soared and he was on his feet before he could stop himself.

But his world came crumbling down just as easily. With a glance, Sylvain realized how the passage of time had shattered and rebuilt her life. Coiffed hair cascaded over her shoulders in a way he knew she felt obstructive. Not being able to maintain her training took a toll on her now delicate arms. And, through the thin veil of her gown, he noticed the bump on her stomach.

Of course. She was expecting.

The notion that Ingrid had become the picture of the perfect housewife sickened him to his core. Nevertheless, seeing her again after such a long time was a breath of fresh air. It seemed that, no matter the situation, his lifelong friend had the ability to appease his thoughts with only her presence. For that, he couldn’t help a budding happiness.

He gave her the smug grin that he had perfected over the years. “Hey. I gotta say, you’re still as radiant as ever. Maybe even more so.”

She rolled her eyes. Man, he had missed that. “I doubt it. Feeling bloated and nauseous all day surely doesn’t make me feel like it.”

Unshed tears began to sting. “Ah, but it’s true.”

He never knew who moved first, only that they met halfway in a hug. Sylvain couldn’t believe she had been the taller one when they were kids. Those days seemed centuries away when he looked at the tiny woman engulfed in his embrace. With Ingrid nuzzling against his chest, he felt as though he could protect her from all harm. He loosened his grasp when he remembered she was with child, instead choosing to rest his cheek on the top of her head.

“I’m so glad to see you again,” he said.

When her gaze met his, Sylvain made the _please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-sorry_ face he was sure she recognized from their childhood, back when he actually offered genuine apologies after her lectures. His mask was cracking, yet it somehow never mattered when the one looking was Ingrid, who relinquished her own disguise around him. Thinking about how that taste of freedom was worth it, he steeled himself for a slap.

Instead, she held tighter to him, her smile bright enough to illuminate the world around them. “What took you so long?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a tricky chapter... I really wanted to include a bit of Sylvain's skirt-chasing, but I honestly can't see him doing that in this situation. Remember when he said that he couldn't bring himself to flirt while Ingrid was mourning Glenn? Yeaaaah, kinda like that. By the way, if you thought the angst was over, hoo boy do I have some terrible news :'D


	4. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain hurries to Reiner Manor shortly after hearing about the birth.

Sylvain was on the northernmost coast of Gautier when he learned that Ingrid had gone into labor.

As soon as the news reached his ears, a fierce panic crept from the pit of his stomach and engulfed his body. According to the wyvern rider, who had left Reiner territory two and a half weeks ago, the birth hadn’t been so premature to be a death sentence. However, the complications that arose had required the interventions of several midwives and physicians.

His blood ran cold. “Is— Is she alright?!”

The messenger opened his mouth, closed it, and then barely moved his lips to mumble that he had set forth before he could be sure.

Sylvain’s feet seemed to move on their own as he climbed on the creature’s back, surprising both the man and animal. 

“Please, take me to the Gautier Margravate,” he implored. When the servant responded with a firm nod, he turned his attention to the dumbfounded soldiers who had accompanied him on his mission. “Troops, keep surveying the villages of the region and prepare a report. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He scarcely heard their voices as the draconic wings launched them into the skies. Sylvain bit his tongue to contain his demand to head directly to Reiner Manor. Not only would his mount collapse from exhaustion within a day, but the people of his domain would suffer the consequences of his sudden absence. He cursed and clenched his frigid fists, noting no difference in how numb his knuckles felt. 

Throughout the journey, he repeated to himself that she was fine, a mantra that kept him sane enough. Ingrid was the strongest and most capable person he knew. While at the monastery, she always rose with the dawn and trained despite her aching muscles. For the longest time, she hadn’t indulged in things like stylish clothes and makeup to focus on knighthood, something he couldn’t resist teasing her about. Just watching her was exhausting. If more than five years of war couldn’t bring her down, how could this?

Despite his desperate attempts, the flood of anguish that had swallowed him only withdrew once he stepped through the Reiner gates ten days later.

The elderly servant that welcomed him in the courtyard assured him that Ingrid was all right, though still quite feeble and woozy. Sylvain bent down as he released a heavy sigh of relief, startling the tiny lady that had unknowingly freed him of an agonizing weight. He blurted out his thanks and almost ran to the entrance, but she called after him.

“Milord! I’m sorry. You can’t see her right now. They are testing the little one, you see.”

“Testing? What—”

And then it hit him. They wanted to see if the child bore a Crest. He had never witnessed one of those blood analyses, but plenty of nobles remembered the day their one-month-old relatives were examined. It wasn’t an unpleasant nor long experience, but what stayed with them were the parents’ reactions to the revelation. Some shouted and sobbed, others hugged and laughed. Even less showed genuine care for the child.

The whole of Reiner Manor held their breath, praying for a successor they deemed worthy.

Until the sound of the front door bursting open broke the tense silence.

A tall man stormed out of the manor, his hands running through his disheveled brown hair. Sylvain knew he was looking at Philip Reiner and leapt to his feet from the bench. 

His heart sunk. There was only one reason Ingrid’s husband could be so furious. 

Behind him, a figure dressed in black strode down the stairs, barely sparing the frantic lord a glance. Sylvain’s hand flew to his hidden dagger, but he caught himself and relaxed. Old habits die hard, he supposed. It wasn’t the norm for a mage to carry out the test, but it was far from strange. 

When the examiner did look at Philip, the few words he said to him fanned the fire. With no reply, he continued down the path to the stables, the soles of his boots pounding against the cobblestone. A few ways to grab his attention sprung to mind, the favored candidate being to throw himself in his way and berate him in a manner only Ingrid could have taught him. But the baron stopped dead in his tracks, his face darting to meet Sylvain’s with cold precision. 

The notorious philanderer had always been painfully aware of the phrase, “the eyes are a window to the soul”. The few who saw behind his façade hadn’t cared for his relaxed body language or lively tone. Instead, they had seen hate buried within his amber irises, although he had no clue how that even made sense. 

In a second, he understood. Philip’s eyes withheld a tempest of resentment, anguish, sadness and a thousand other emotions that battled for control over his mind and body. 

A familiar twinge pierced his chest when he wondered if his father bore the same expression after Miklan’s birth. 

Philip’s frown softened once he scanned the unexpected guest, though he couldn’t tell if it was due to embarrassment or intrigue. He must have recognized Ingrid’s friend, for he tilted his head towards the manor, as if entrusting the situation to him, and resumed his course before either spoke a word. Like he wasn’t just abandoning his distraught wife, he heeded his wyvern’s roar and set off to Goddess-knows-where. 

Sylvain allowed himself to breathe and unclench his jaw, lest he damage his teeth. The servants’ loud chatter confirmed his suspicions the moment he made his way to the door and through the corridors. As if he had travelled back in time and to the Gautier halls, maids lamented that the boy wasn’t what their Lord needed. He had to restrict himself from punching a butler who grumbled that the Lady needed to give birth to a deserving heir as soon as possible. 

A recurring scenario that saw Sylvain without his prized Crest surfaced in his mind. Despite what he tried to believe as a kid, his House would have tossed him aside if he hadn’t been of use to them, like Miklan. His parents had never truly loved him, just as he was sure his grandparents hadn’t truly loved them either. And Philip Reiner promised to perpetuate the abhorrent cycle that had ruined his family.

Burbling cries trailed by a familiar voice shushing them snapped him out of his thoughts. Following the sounds with almost hesitant footsteps, Sylvain arrived at an area that he recognized as Ingrid’s boudoir. She had once mentioned that she preferred the humbler space over the great chamber since it reminded her of her quarters in Galatea and the Officers Academy. An odd feeling urged him to turn back, like he was interrupting something, but he ignored it.

As soon as he peeked through the door, he froze.

Ingrid sat on an upholstered armchair in the corner, her locks now long enough to fit into a simple updo. A few stray hairs and the bags beneath her reddened eyes betrayed the exhaustion of restless nights. Nonetheless, she gave the weeping bundle in her arms a weary grin.

Sylvain found he couldn’t bring himself to call out to her. In all her life, Ingrid had never expressed an interest in becoming a mother, and he guessed being forced into the role could only further her distaste. He had never expected to find her admiring her unwanted child with a softness that had evaded him since childhood, yet one he recognized all the same. Fragments of it had sprung up before, mostly when dining with their classmates or when her brothers visited her. Now, he basked in the boundless amounts of unconditional love that the scene proved could exist.

Ingrid, sharp as ever, sensed the visitor shortly after. Her face lit up, compelling him to take a step into the room. Then another. And another.

In an instant, he was standing beside her, his hand clutching the back of the chair. She tugged on the blanket with her finger, uncovering the tiniest and squishiest cheeks he had ever seen. 

“His name is Isaac,” Ingrid whispered, although it did nothing to calm her babbling son. “Isaac Bardolph.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Bardolph? Like the hero in the poem?”

“You know I couldn’t help it.”

Sylvain peered at the legendary knight’s namesake. By the goddess, he was so small. Ingrid hadn’t ever been great at handling delicate things, but the way she cradled him like it was nothing amazed him. 

He beamed. “Hey there, little buddy. My name’s Sylvain.” 

The baby’s green eyes widened in an almost comical way, taking in the sight of the stranger in front of him. He was worried he might have scared him, but the kid reached for him with his chubby arms as his lips curled up into a smile.

Rendered speechless, Sylvain let out a laugh of disbelief. He gave his hand for Isaac to take into both of his own. “Well, now! Guess we’ve got a charmer over here. You might even surpass me once you’ve grown up a bit, huh?”

He turned his head towards Ingrid, a look of similar shock spread across her face. “That… He has never done that before…”

“Done what?”

“Smile.” She sat upright, as if now grasping what the situation meant. “That was his first smile! You— How did you do that?! I’ve been trying to get him to smile for weeks! And you just waltz in and accomplish it without even realizing?” She tried to keep a stern tone, but the happiness in her voice was undeniable.

Sylvain slung his arm around her shoulders. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.” 

She scoffed good-naturedly. The pair fell into a comfortable silence as they watched Isaac drift off to sleep. Even if their society valued Crests over his life, even if the system that had determined their fates would forsake him, for now, all that shaped Isaac’s world were his dreams and the warmth of his mother’s embrace.

Sylvain found peace in that fact, and held her closer. “You did fantastic, Ingrid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god like half of my ads now will be about maternity... Fun fact! Isaac means "laughter" :D And Bardolph means "bright wolf", so I guess Ingrid's son is a really happy and smart pup. By the way, I hope the blood analysis thing made sense, 'cuz I literally have no idea how they see if a newborn has a Crest in the Three Houses universe.


	5. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, Sylvain and his father discuss his future.

The principal residence of the Gautier estate was an opulent sanctuary in the eye of a perpetual snowstorm. Tree branches and sleet battered its grated windows, no doubt the work of howling winds, but the fireplace crackled in a calming reminder of the safety found indoors. It had been that way since its very beginning. Many things had changed with the remorseless flow of time, but at least those sounds remained untouched.

Sylvain wished everything else in his life could have been so lucky.

Letting out a tired groan, the house's master lay down on his writing desk and stared at the piece of parchment with the Crest of Daphnel in his hand. It was different from the other letters that arrived routinely at his doorstep.

It was an invitation to meet Ingrid's second child, whom she would likely give birth to within a month.

He loved to visit the little family. Nothing beat seeing their faces light up whenever he stopped by with the storybooks he had recovered from the depths of the margravate's library. It felt strange not giving them extravagant gifts as per custom among Faerghus nobles, but Ingrid was an avid saver. She had even valued his subpar attempts at restoring the toys that they had shared and promptly wore out long ago, though not without a bit of teasing first, of course.

Oh, but if she appreciated the efforts, Isaac _adored_ them. That was when he realized that the kid had not only inherited his mother's piercing green eyes, but her silvery laughter that could make him forget his woes.

And yet nothing could drive away a crushing guilt that only grew whenever he saw them. He never lingered in Reiner territory for more than a few days, and once he left, a worrying relief clung to his heart. _You can't do this to yourself anymore,_ it whispered in grating tones. _It's better to leave them be._

About two years ago, on the day he met her son, Sylvain made a promise to them. No matter the circumstances, he would come running if they needed him. He'd be damned if he let Miklan's fate befall on Isaac, or the life of a disposable puppet consume Ingrid. He would be there for them.

But he was exhausted. He supposed he always knew the reason why, though he refused to verbalize it. Keeping it hidden allowed him to forget about the pain.

A knight of Faerghus never goes back on his word. Then again, Sylvain hadn't ever been great at following rules. It would be so easy to just send a message saying he needed to secure the border or supervise the coastal towns…

Several knocks on wood jerked him back to reality. Before he could speak, his door creaked open.

Instead of a servant with awful timing, his father stood at the entrance.

The former margrave looked out of place in Sylvain's quarters. He always envisioned him sitting quietly on the other side of the great hall's table or kneeling before the altar in the chapel. As the man plodded towards him, he wondered if he was drowsy, uncomfortable or both. Without warning, he set down a mountain of papers that tumbled over, spreading letters all over his desk.

Sylvain waited for an explanation. It didn't come.

"Um, what is this?" He already had a guess. He just had no idea why the hell _his dad_ would be the one to deliver them.

"The most recent marriage proposals."

He rubbed his temple. Being correct didn't lessen the frustration.

His father coughed lightly. "My son, you have grown into a hardworking, devout leader. Certain clans of Sreng still show signs of hostility, but we are headed in the right direction. That is why I saw it appropriate to give you this."

He pulled out a velvet pouch from his coat. Trying to discern the ulterior motives, Sylvain stared at him as he cautiously received the gift, but the unbearable expectancy in his father's eyes forced him to reach into the bag.

The Gautier heir’s breath caught in his throat. He was fiddling with a gold ring set with emeralds and engraved with his Crest.

"I've noticed the changes in your behavior," his father said. "You don't indulge in nightlife often, nor…trifle with the maids or noblewomen."

Sylvain placed the antique wedding band on the desk. "I thought you'd be happy about that, old man."

"Don't misunderstand. I came here to—"

"I know," he grumbled. "I know I need to get married soon. I know one of these strangers will become my wife for the sake of our territory or our country or whatever. You don't need to tell me again. Having this talk over dinner is enough, already."

The elder lord blinked. Sylvain couldn't care less about his blatant disrespect, and instead braced himself for an interminable lecture.

It didn't come.

The sigh that escaped his father's lips wasn't so much exasperated as it was sad. The gray spots in his hair and the wrinkles that formed an eternal frown on his face became much more apparent as he walked towards the window, his hands behind his back.

"Yes," he said. "I have given much thought to the matter. And…" His gaze got lost in the niveous haze that enveloped their home, as if searching for something. "I understand now that, for whatever reason it may be, it is not the time. You have dedicated yourself to our people and sacrificed much along the way. Who you marry… If it will bring you some comfort, you may reach a decision yourself."

Sylvain wasn't sure he heard that right. He turned to fully face him, expecting him to correct himself. When he didn't, he examined his face for signs of restrained laughter, although that was improbable at best. His father would make a joke the day Felix gave up swordsmanship to become a healer.

"OK, what's this about?" Sylvain huffed, unnerved. "All these years you've been saying you'll marry me off, and now you've magically changed your mind?" He glared at him from where he sat. The imposing figure of his father had intimidated him when he was younger, but he could now see the pitiful soul that lurked within. "At least tell me what you're planning so I won't have to figure it out."

To his increasing confusion, the stunned expression melted into a weary grin. "As perceptive as ever, I see. Very well. I consider it part of my penitence, so to speak."

Sylvain waited for him to elaborate. The man was not hyper religious by any means, but in recent times he had developed a habit of lingering in the oratory for hours on end, leaving him to wonder what he could possibly be praying for.

Before he could delve for answers, the former margrave continued. "I have made…terrible decisions in the past. If the goddess allowed us mortals to turn back the hands of time, believe me, I would in an instant. But all that we can do…" He closed his eyes for a second only to contemplate the horizon again. Sylvain could have sworn he saw a hint of hesitance in his movements. "All that we _must_ do is remember and live with the consequences of our actions. That is, until the day when we can make amends."

Sylvain followed his father's gaze. Beyond the walls of their castle and the rampart that protected the city, beyond the hills and frozen rivers, lay the abandoned Conand Tower.

Bile filled his mouth. Not even sleep could shelter him from the dreadful memories that tormented him. The Lance of Ruin pulsating in Miklan's hand, the deafening screams, the way his body writhed as the Relic's fury disfigured it.

The monster that stood where his brother had drawn his last breath.

Sylvain hadn't ever loved him. How could he, when all that he brought upon his life was misery? When he would push him off trees, poison his food and shove him in wells?

Despite that, a voice in the back of his head yearned for the care of an older brother. Felix's and Ingrid's would climb, eat and play with them. They would recite stories with exaggerated hand gestures and silly voices and teach them how to wield weapons so they wouldn't get hurt.

As he watched, Sylvain thought that he maybe wasn't doing things right.

And so he never confronted his brother nor revealed his misdeeds to his parents. If he let out all the resentment he bottled up, if he stopped seeing him as a threat, perhaps he would warm up to him. He could honor him with his love.

After all, Miklan was the one without a Crest. He had every right to be angry at him.

His father smiled, entrusting him with foreign vulnerability. "I suppose it is selfish of me. Perhaps, by allowing you to forge this piece of your future, I can begin to atone."

Sylvain stared at him. The elder man constantly emitted an aura of cold composure and kept even his loved ones at a wary distance. That's why, on the night of Miklan's exile, Sylvain thought his eyes were tricking him. He only realized that he had truly seen the revered lord cry when he returned home shortly after the declaration of war. It could have been because of stress or worry, but an aching sorrow shadowed his every move.

Now, as he looked towards the south, his regret became almost tangible.

It was oddly comforting to know that his dad also wondered about how things might have turned out differently.

Sylvain grasped the ring. "I think you can, father."

He began his preparations as soon as morning came. The journey to the Reiner Barony wasn't a short one, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always pictured Sylvain's father as an absolute jerk since, y'know, he neglected and exiled one of his children, but I thought it might be interesting to explore a more caring side of him. Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think!
> 
> Oh, one last thing! I had 7 chapters in my original outline, but I've gotten so many ideas along the way that I think we'll end up with 8 or 9 (if I don't write an epilogue, which I doubt 'cuz I'm weak for bonus fluff), so sorry about that ;v;


	6. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid plays the role of mother as best as she can, but the call of knighthood is a persistent one.

Philip had summoned the mage that had tested their firstborn to conduct the examination again.

With black robes and skin paler than death, he always sparked a pang of uneasiness within Ingrid. Her nightmares forced her to relive clashes against silhouettes enclosed in the scorching remains of an unknown battlefield, surges of dark magic igniting their fingertips. She tried to regain her composure to avoid appearing rude, but her Isaac surely perceived the furrow in her brow or the way she cradled him closer, since he began to recoil and whine in the examiner's presence. Ingrid chastised herself. Anxieties haunted every battle-hardened soldier. How could she be so careless as to terrify her child?

Despite the attempts, her worry only grew as bleak prospects emerged. If her newborn had a Crest, it would mean a better future for both of them. The baby would receive more attention and care from Philip, and Ingrid would likely be spared from another multitude of discomforting pregnancies and the excruciating pain of labor. Although she was a warrior, she was also fond of steeling herself. Those battles were not ones she could be prepared for.

But, if she didn't have one…

She looked at the beautiful baby girl in her arms, her little Julia, and could not see her. She could only look for that piece of her that may or may not exist, that may determine her life. _Please, I beg of you, let her bear a Crest,_ she pleaded to the heavens.

And she hated herself for it. She loathed to have become everything that had taken her dreams away.

Sylvain had also noticed her anguish. He had arrived soon after the birth to aid the family, and Ingrid could not find the words to thank him. His ability to see right through her helped him know when to hug her, make her laugh or shower her with flattery. She would often smack him lightly on the arm when he got carried away, though. If her husband hadn't left to deal with official business, she was certain that he would have pulled out his axe. He was fine with her friends' numerous visits and had even gotten particularly chatty with Annette and Mercedes, but the surly look in his eyes suggested that he knew about the margrave's skirt-chasing tendencies.

There was nothing to worry about, obviously. Ingrid was a married woman and constantly reassured him that Sylvain was just an old friend, even if she wasn't sure her words could sway him. She was pleasantly surprised when, after some time, Philip's skepticism dwindled to the point of allowing Sylvain to stay at their guest room while he was travelling. Although a part of her, one that wanted to maintain a distance in the arrangement, insisted that he had done it out of indifference, she chose to believe that he knew just how comforting it was for her to have her lifelong partner by her side.

Her servants did most of the job since Sylvain's housework skills were still pretty lousy, as she often reminded him playfully. Back when she was unfortunate enough to end up on kitchen or stable duty with her dear classmate, she had to drag him to do his share, or, on the more extreme cases, barricade the exits. Even so, there was no denying that his help now was invaluable. She couldn't think of something that brought a smile to her lips faster than Sylvain running around with Isaac on his shoulders or making silly faces at Julia.

"You will frighten her," she had once cautioned.

"Hey! I was the first one to make Isaac smile and I'm _not_ planning on breaking my streak, thank you very much. Besides, girls love me."

"Oh, sure. Nothing says 'I love you' more than holding back tears."

Life seemed to enjoy tossing Ingrid around, guiding her from place to place and towards all kinds of people. She knew better than to grow fond of routines, for they would likely fade away like intricate snowflakes in the cold winds, their beauty forever out of her sight.

But Sylvain's friendship was the one constant in the ocean of change. After Glenn's death, he had sat day and night by her door, waiting for the moment she opened it to flash her a goofy grin and show her a great book he had read. After the announcement of Dimitri's execution, he had embraced her until her body stopped shaking and no more tears trickled down her face.

He always reminded her of the reasons why she kept moving forward, the day of the analysis being no exception.

"Hey, Ingrid!"

The tousled red-head ran into the solar, his shirt improperly buttoned and his pants stained with dirt. _Isaac must be in need of a bath,_ she thought, a fond sigh escaping her mouth. As he hurried to sit beside her, Sylvain looked over at her arms, where she cradled a sleepy Julia.

He leaned in to whisper: "You remember the culinary adventure we always spoke of having but never actually did anything about? Well, I was thinking, when the little guys are a bit older, we could go to some former Alliance territories." He caressed Julia's cheek. His scarred hands looked gigantic compared to her tiny head. "Uncle Sylvain could show them some crazy good restaurants around there!"

At that moment, Julia began to whimper, turning towards Sylvain's finger with a motion that the experienced mother recognized all too well. She held her daughter closer, who, sure enough, nuzzled against her chest.

"Speaking of food," Ingrid cooed, "I think someone's hungry again."

She turned to Sylvain, his mouth agape and eyes wide in a look of absolute awe that had no business being so unbearably endearing. She almost couldn't bring herself to speak, but she cleared her throat.

"Sylvain."

As if snapping out of a trance, his gaze shot up to meet hers. She gestured to the baby in her hold, who was smacking her lips above her clothed breast, and his eyes darted back and forth between them.

A bright shade of pink colored his face.

"O-Oh, right!" Sylvain sprung up from his seat in a manner that was anything but graceful. "Sorry. I'll, uh, I'll be right by the door."

Ingrid giggled as he left. The almighty margrave could be such a boy sometimes.

That afternoon, as soon as the medical preparations were done, the mage loomed over with a syringe in wait for her permission. Ingrid had never felt uneasy around blood. No knight had that luxury, and her experience on the front lines intimately familiarized her with a myriad of nauseating textures and smells. Nevertheless, tears stung her eyes as the needle pierced her wailing daughter's fist, and Ingrid searched the couch for the comfort of Sylvain's hand.

Finally, after a short eternity, the mage took the sample and left for a room where he had mounted his equipment. Ingrid was sitting quietly, clenching her dress, when the familiar beat of a dragon's wings drew near. The minute she stood up, the mahogany double doors of the manor flew open and her panting husband rushed in. She tensed up. Of course, he would not want to miss the analysis.

As soon as the mage spoke the results, a surge of conflicting emotions overwhelmed her.

She was relieved, for once. Philip pulled her into a hug, surprisingly, and Sylvain uttered convincing congratulations. The news spread like wildfire among the staff, each of its members lining up to extend their good wishes on the new heir. Dusk had yet to arrive when the estate of Reiner, usually shrouded in silence and repose, lit up with glorious celebrations.

But Ingrid's mind wandered repeatedly to the moment her husband stormed out of the room, a cloud of tense whispers settling in the air. To the day when the world turned its back on the Crestless boy she held in her arms, labeled inadequate. A failure.

The goddess could cram her path with misery for all she cared, but her stomach turned at the thought of a grim fate awaiting her son.

The seasons passed, and Ingrid could have sworn time flew by as she watched her little ones discover the wonders around them. To her delight, Julia grew to adore the legends of chivalry she read to her every night, to the point where she handed her the books that she wanted to hear. On the other side, Isaac was the sweetest bundle of energy, constantly showing his sister his favorite toys and asking everyone nearby to play make-believe with him. He received a significantly larger amount of side-eyed glances than Julia, but no one was foolish enough to scoff at her son in her presence, at the very least.

Philip was away for most of it. While he didn't tell her much about his missions, the workers and townsfolk had informed her that many western lords had set off to supervise a worrying amount of minor villages in the territory whose people had fallen ill. She almost jumped on her steed, ready to depart with her husband, but reality hit her like a brutal slap. She had a duty away from weapons and battles whose urgency she could not negate.

That was, until the King himself summoned the heads of House Reiner.

Delivering reports to the castle was nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, the family often provided wyvern riders for the royal guard and, in turn, received food and revenue for their lands. But the abrupt request for both the lord and lady's presence in Fhirdiad warned of an urgent situation, and Ingrid had no choice but to leave her children in her servants' care.

The journey to the capital, once merely inconvenient, tired her after just a few days, forcing her to admit that the renowned warrior had become shamefully frail. As she guided her pegasus below the clouds and to the city, Ingrid found comfort in the icy breeze that tousled her braid and the sight of imposing buildings and paved roads. This prospering Fhirdiad differed from the images in her memory, yet it still felt like home.

Getting to see one of her dearest friends cemented that feeling, and it took every ounce of her remaining strength to avoid throwing her arms around his neck the instant they entered the castle's great hall.

"Hello, Your Majesty." She bowed along with Philip. "It has been a while."

She was sure that Dimitri's giant smile mirrored her own. "More than a while, Ingrid."

Her husband stood on the sidelines, only speaking when spoken to, as the two war heroes caught up and reminisced in manners that no written letter could allow. His hair was pulled back neatly and short stubble framed his face in a way that reminded her of the kings of old, their likeness captured in the finest paintings. A part of her heart wished she could have been there to see the change.

Their time was cut short that evening, however, when they assembled with a few other lords of the west specialized in training elite soldiers and began discussing the dire conditions of several towns in their lands. She wondered why Dimitri would summon a crowd of combatants with little medical knowledge, but it soon became clear enough.

Expert physicians had determined that an infectious disease wouldn't have such a large range of varying symptoms. It was most likely that the gruesome conditions that ailed the citizens were actually curses, their unknown casters a threat to the Kingdom.

Sickening images flashed through her mind. People with pure white eyes and cracked, bloodied skin that made them resemble monsters ran through the blazing wreckage of a once peaceful village.

"Your Majesty." Her words tumbled out before she could consider them. "Do you think this may be connected to the Remire Calamity of a few years ago?"

She instantly regretted her question.

"It may be," Dimitri said through gritted teeth. "The soldiers that were allied with the Empire… Some escaped during the battle at the Imperial Palace."

As Dimitri clenched his fists, Ingrid tensed, recalling the savage and bloodthirsty puppet of the dead that they had found long ago at the ruined monastery. As much as she tried to distance the honorable monarch she yearned to serve from that wretched figure eternally surrounded by corpses, she couldn't deny the darkness that sometimes possessed his gaze.

"And, to think, they may have been involved in the Tragedy of Duscur as well." Dimitri's voice took on a terrifyingly gruff tone. "Cowards. _Beasts_. Anyone involved in such events deserves the worst punishment…"

She had just opened her mouth to speak when Philip's hand grasped her own. His gray eyes, usually calm and aloof, met the King firmly.

"Your Majesty," he drawled, as if facing a rabid animal, "we have provided you with our finest troops, and we will make sure to assign mounted scouts to the affected regions. If there is any suspicious activity, trust that we will be the first to know and report back." He glanced at Ingrid, then at him again. That instant was enough for her to notice his uneasiness. "I am terribly sorry for being so rude, but we can't afford to leave our territory unattended for much longer. I pray you will forgive us."

The King allowed them to take their leave, a sympathetic look on his face, as if nothing had troubled him before. Philip grabbed Ingrid's hand and started heading for the exit. A storm of questions and demands churned inside her, but the last thing that she wanted was to make a fuss in the royal palace.

She elected to pull her arm away, but there was no choosing to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! I present to you Julia Audhild Reiner-Galatea, whose name I had so much freaking trouble deciding on oh my god. Also, it was painful to write Ingrid as struggling to be submissive... She does it for the sake of her family, but aughhh.


	7. Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid realizes that she has never strayed far from the path of a knight, nor does she plan to. (Warning for short yet fairly graphic depictions of violence in this chapter.)

"It would be for the best to avoid engaging with His Majesty as much as possible."

Ingrid stopped dead in her tracks. Resolute merchants and bards playing off-key bustled around the streets of the capital to the point where the noise reached the royal stables, and yet she had heard Philip's words distinctly. She wished she hadn't. As her husband took a few steps forward, she expected him to turn around and confirm that this was only his terrible attempt at a jest, but, when he looked over his shoulder, his gaze set firmly on hers and a frown tarnished his features.

He was not joking.

"What? Why would you say that?" she snapped, her confusion boiling into anger.

Philip sighed, glancing impatiently at his wyvern. "I'm doing this for your protection, Ingrid," he said, as if she had no choice in the matter. As if she would just sit around and watch as another vital part of her life was ripped away.

"My protection? Are you implying that His Majesty would harm me? That he is a _threat_ to us?"

His silence spoke volumes.

Ingrid strode over to him and lifted her head to look the towering lord in the eye, refusing to be intimidated. "Your behavior back at the assembly was already unbelievably rude, but your allegations against the Savior King could be considered blasphemous. Don't you understand?"

Philip regarded her with an infuriating mixture of annoyance and pity. "Savior King," he spat. "I had hoped you weren't as ignorant as everyone else, but clearly I was foolish."

"Pardon me? I have known His Majesty for my whole life and have fought by his side countless times, so don't you dare—"

"Then how can you be so blind?!" He pressed his lips, his nose crinkling in disgust. "If you have seen his atrocities yourself, how can you defend that wretched excuse of a man?"

Ingrid stumbled back a step, trying to process his words. Her own husband, a servant of the Holy Kingdom, vilified one of the bravest and kindest men she knew. She crossed her arms, her face twisting into a scowl. "You better explain yourself right this instant."

Philip let out a frustrated sigh. "During the initial years of the war, ours was one of the few western Houses that refused to ally with the Empire. We bred and trained hundreds of pegasi and wyverns for the anti-Dukedom forces and deployed the few soldiers that we had, myself and my family included."

Ingrid kept quiet, growing increasingly annoyed at the ill-timed history lesson.

"I garrisoned my troops in a small town of the Rowe County, where we brought food and blankets. If we could have helped the people survive through the winter and protected them from the Empire, it would have been enough..." He ran a hand through his hair, then let it fall limply at his side. "The enemy ambushed us one night. We were evacuating the villagers when…he appeared."

A freezing dread flooded Ingrid as she thought back to the day of the Millennium Festival.

"He was large and his grimy hair obscured his face, but he had such a raging fire in his eyes…" Philip perfectly described the deranged prince who she herself had encountered long ago. "He seemed to only be after Imperial fighters, so we thought it best to leave him be. And then, he started his slaughter."

He was talking about her lord. He was talking about her _friend_ , and yet Ingrid could not find it in her to be furious anymore. Since she could remember, her coping mechanism of twisting somber realities into placid fantasies blinded her to the suffering around her. To uphold her chivalric ideals, she had refused to believe that Glenn had died with regrets and overlooked the sorrow that had consumed her loved ones after the Tragedy of Duscur. Now, she would not allow herself to create a romanticized, crooked depiction of a man with unquestionably bloodstained hands, no matter how much she wished it wasn't the case.

And so, she continued to listen.

"That beast tackled the soldiers to the ground, crushing their skulls," Philip's voice trembled slightly, as if the horrifying image in his mind was as vivid as the day he saw it. "If any of them miraculously survived, it would tear their limbs off, one by one. And all with a wide smile, like it was enjoying every second…" He lowered his head, his eyes closed shut. "We tried to stop it, but that only made things worse. It trampled my men, the old as well as the young recruits. We had no choice but to take the village kids we could and escape."

Few things could render Ingrid speechless. As maddening as it was, she could not fault Philip for using the word "it" to describe the Dimitri of early wartime, since the scene she recreated in her head warranted nothing but the degrading term.

"The day Fhirdiad welcomed that beast back, as their _king_ , no less, was the most repugnant day of my life, Ingrid. He's emotional and unstable. You saw it yourself, how he almost lost control back at the meeting. How can such a bloodthirsty killer lead Faerghus?"

 _Stay calm,_ she repeated to herself. The monster he was talking about no longer existed. Even if Dimitri struggled with his grief, he was dedicating himself to his atonement, and would not rest until their entire continent saw prosperity.

But the irreversible scars of the past ran deep. Ingrid shuddered to think about the uncounted lives that fell to the lord she pledged her own to. Men and women, adults and children… Just how many had his blade claimed along those painfully long years?

Philip took a breath through gritted teeth and began untying the rope that bound his wyvern to a fence. "Let's get going. There's no point in discussing this further."

Ingrid had trained herself to keep quiet and obey. With practice and determination, everything became easier, or so she thought. During the months following their return to the Reiner Barony, black-robed mages like the Crest examiner began to visit their lands, requesting to speak with the house's master and loitering around their domain for days. The oil lamps of the guest rooms burned until the earliest hours of the morning, making her wonder what could have them so intensely occupied. Worst of all, their gazes always lingered on Julia for a second too long. Ingrid could not shake off a creeping uneasiness, and her dismissive husband didn't do much to help with her worry. For that, she found that she needed to detain herself and evoke the reasons why she had led her life down this path.

She remembered being no more than seven or eight, sitting at the great hall's table and looking over at her father's plate, wondering why it was so much smaller than hers. She remembered detangling herself from his grasp and sneaking into a secluded alleyway in town, where an elderly woman lay on the floor, her ashen skin cold as ice. She remembered playing catch with Sylvain and Felix, trying to get her older brother to run with them and noticing that the pain of hunger prevented him from even walking.

From her armchair in the solar of Reiner Manor, Ingrid watched the little boy who smiled brightly as he taught the little girl beside him how to play, the leather ball now old and worn, but just as perfect as she recalled. Even when she was young, she had understood why she was never supposed to choose her own fate. If it meant that her family—her children—would grow happy and safe, a lifetime of captivity would be a worthy cost to pay.

Then, more mages came.

Ingrid would not deny the omnipresent anxiety that the war had cursed her with. There was not a single night in which she had indulged in a peaceful rest, instead forcibly recreating the gruesome battles, severed bodies and ear-splitting cries that were ingrained in her mind. She tried desperately to ignore these visions, assuring herself that it was all over, but, as the deathly pale warlocks arrived at their doorstep, one nightmare eclipsed the rest.

One in which she stood among the scorched pillars that bolstered the ancient Palace of Enbarr, battling figures that were not wearing the red of Imperial uniforms, instead clothed in black.

She could not take it anymore.

"Who are these people, Philip?" she asked for the hundredth time, now truly intent on getting real answers. "What do they want?"

"I told you before, haven't I? I'm repaying a debt to them." Her husband instantly looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. "Ingrid, I really don't have time for this now. If you will excuse me."

She wanted to shout, to tell him that she had witnessed the horrors these monsters were responsible for, like the violent human experiments in Remire and now the western villages. She wanted to chastise him for his carelessness and scream that their entire household was in danger.

But she buried her demands deep within her. One wrong step, one angering remark, and her children would suffer the consequences.

"Philip, please don't hide things from me," she spoke softly, tugging on his sleeve. She hoped that her eyes conveyed the innocence and tenderness she was faking. "I know they aren't loyalists to the King. What are they asking for?"

Her husband stared at her for a moment, the sharpness in his eyes diminishing. An intense irritation urged Ingrid to keep pressing on, but she held her tongue.

Finally, Philip uttered a single word that chilled her to the bone. "Julia."

Ingrid stepped back for a moment. The image of the grotesque creature that she had fought back in Enbarr, the distorted remains of Edelgard, surfaced in her mind like a dire warning.

"What do they want with her?" A voice she recognized as her own mumbled.

"Her Crest. The blood of Crest-bearers is perfect for their investigations."

"Why are you allowing this to happen?"

"I know about the risks, Ingrid, but I don't have the luxury of a choice!" he snapped, his tall frame looming over hers like a predator. He seemed to become aware of his foul temper, though, since he breathed deeply and continued in a gentler tone, "If everything goes as they say, Faerghus will actually have a future. Under that beast's command, there's no hope for any of us. This is the only way."

Ingrid was never meant to choose her own fate. From an early age, she had accepted her role of the coveted prize that, once bestowed to its rightful owner, would save her family. Even if she dreamed of becoming a knight in service of the King, she found comfort in the idea that sacrificing herself to protect her loved ones was the knightliest thing she could do.

The moment Philip's words sunk in, she found out that there was nothing that could stop her from following her calling.

Over the course of the next days, Ingrid concealed food in the folds of her dresses and placed it in the satchel on her pegasus. She took a sharp kitchen knife and hid it under her nightstand. Remembering her times scolding Claude von Riegan for his undetectable stomach-turning concoctions, and his explanations of the dubious brewing process, she gathered the ingredients in town and prepared a cup of tea that she instructed a servant to deliver to Philip.

In the dead of night, as her husband lay on their bed passed out from the pain, Ingrid slipped out of the great chamber.

Careful to make her steps as faint as possible, she maneuvered around the manor in complete darkness, feeling along the walls and trusting her knowledge of the layout. Finally, she arrived at a hallway with a weak light flickering from behind a door on the far end, and took a moment to thank the goddess above that the guest rooms were located far away from the servants' quarters.

Her hushed knocking was the only sound among the tense silence.

Shortly after, the door creaked open to reveal the same cadaverous man that had tested her children for Crests. Deep bags darkened the skin around his eyes, as if he had never known sleep, and a perpetual frown bore into his aged features, but, otherwise, the mage just seemed intrigued at the Lady's peculiar visit.

"Sir, I'm sorry for disturbing you at such an hour," Ingrid began, trying to keep her voice from quivering, "but there's an urgent matter that I need to discuss with you. May I come in?"

The man pondered her request for a second. Then, without a word, he took a step aside. When she entered with a muttered "thank you", he turned to close the door.

She did not waste a single instant.

As soon as the entrance clinked shut, the former soldier clutched the mage's wrists. With a swift motion that she had honed during the war, she tackled him to the floor, rammed her knee against his back and held her weapon just below his jaw before he could make any more noise.

"Don't speak," she whispered. "Don't struggle. Answer my questions and I won't dig this deeper into your neck." She drew blood with the blade's edge, emphasizing her point. "Who are you? Why were you allied with the Empire?"

The warlock writhed, but she tightened her grip until a painful _crack_ of his bones stopped him from moving.

"What do you hope to achieve with your human experiments?" she snarled. "Answer me."

No response. Ingrid grew angrier by the second, wishing to immediately end the beast that not only haunted her nightmares, but dared to harm her kids.

"You turned Edelgard into a hideous monster," she said, wondering if her little ones would have suffered the same fate.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. Then, the most terrifying smile slowly broadened on his face. "Heh, the Emperor was a failure. A waste of our time."

She grasped the handle so hard that her knuckles turned white.

"You and your kind have ruined this world," he hissed. "You are scum… And your touch is insufferably revolting!"

The man moved to the side frantically, freeing one of his hands from her grasp, and reached for the weapon.

Ingrid plunged her knife into his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I adore Dimitri (I'm a Blue Lion all the way, of course), but there's no way the man became the most beloved king of Faerghus after living his intense feral life. Oh, and sorry for the lack of Sylvain in this chapter! Things are pretty bleak now, but that makes the good moments all the more sweet, don't you think?


	8. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face shows up at Sylvain's doorstep with dreadful news and an unexpected demand.

A single foggy morning outside of his castle had bombarded Sylvain with more surprises than the previous months combined. First, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, the stern, workhorse duke who could barely afford to break free from his duties a handful of times every year to visit his friends, descended upon the Gautier gates on top of an exhausted wyvern, the breeze tousling his waist-length hair. Second, he immediately omitted the proper greetings among the nobles of Faerghus—well, omitted _any_ greetings—to demand that Sylvain climb on the animal right that instant, and with the way he gripped his sword’s hilt, he might as well have threatened to cut him into pieces if he refused.

But what had struck him like a ton of bricks and, in parallel, turned his body nauseatingly light were his friend’s following words.

"Ingrid and her children are missing."

Sylvain held onto the stone wall of the fortress, if only to physically latch on to reality. He might have cared about his knees almost giving out under him, but the whirlpool of questions that spun in his mind claimed his attention. _What the hell? When did this happen? How could this happen? Why—_

"Wipe that stupid look off your face and listen," Felix said before Sylvain had a chance to voice his dread. "You and I both know where she is."

He didn’t think twice about clutching Felix’s arm. No sooner had he pulled him up than the creature soared with a powerful beat of its wings.

“A messenger from Galatea arrived at Fraldarius territory,” Felix yelled so he could hear him over the biting winds. “Her family and House Reiner are searching everywhere for the three of them. They disappeared about a week ago.”

An entire week. Sylvain had always loathed the remoteness of his domain, but now more than ever did he curse being the last to receive urgent news. If it hadn’t been for Felix delivering them personally, he would have remained unaware of the ordeal for who knows how long. The mere thought made his stomach churn.

To his credit, the tense and fatigued swordsman answered every one of his panicked questions with as much patience as he could muster. A trained war hero was probably the least likely candidate for anyone with half a brain to attempt to kidnap and Ingrid’s pegasus was nowhere to be found in Reiner lands, which meant that she might have escaped. However, the key to his hypothesis was the infuriating possibility that her idiot husband had sunk even lower than she would tolerate.

Sylvain tensed up, remembering that he was on a wyvern headed towards the unknown. Felix was certain about Ingrid’s location. “And where are we going?”

Felix looked over his shoulder as if he had asked the dumbest question yet. “Ugh, I should have expected you to be just as oblivious as everyone in this investigation. Where else would she take refuge?”

A few days later, as dusk painted the skies a vibrant golden, they arrived at Garreg Mach Monastery.

The margrave frequented the Church of Seiros’s headquarters, as did most lords of the Holy Kingdom. Since the Officers Academy prospered in this peaceful age, numerous students roamed the pavilions, some engaging in loud chatter and others barely stifling yawns. Sylvain recalled the tea parties he used to host in the courtyard, the delicious meals that his class shared in the dining room, making it seem not so filthy anymore, and the regular clash of steel in the training grounds that had become almost lulling. Even during the war, his friends had turned the ruined monastery into more of a home than the margravate. For that, each visit filled him with heartwarming nostalgia.

In the reception hall, Sylvain spotted a tuft of green hair among the crowd and guided his irritated, shorter companion towards the familiar sight. Seteth looked at them with raised brows, but his expression became more determined as he made his way to meet them, like he knew exactly what they had come for.

Turns out, he did.

“Ingrid requested sanctuary a while ago. I believe she and her children are currently in the knight’s hall,” he said after they exchanged greetings, returning air to Sylvain’s lungs. “If there is anything else we can do, please let us know. Flayn and I would be happy to help.”

Sylvain thanked him and ran to catch up to Felix, who had already reached the eastern door.

The room’s crackling hearth built the moderate warmth that Sylvain had always found irresistibly cozy, reason why he constantly used to fall asleep on the settee to be awoken by an annoyed professor. Although many soldiers came for extra practice or rest during the day, only a few lingered by the walls standing guard or lighting candles in anticipation of nightfall.

Facing one of the straw dummies, a figure dressed in trousers and an oversized blouse corrected the stance of a young boy clutching a wooden sword while a girl stared intently from the stairs. The woman turned to the newcomers, her blonde braid swinging with the motion.

“Sylvain! Felix!” Ingrid exclaimed, her emergent smile illuminating her eyes in a breathtaking way.

When he ran up to her encounter, nothing else in the world mattered. There was no Crest system, no corrupt nobility, no leeching obligations. There was only his cherished friend as she jumped into his arms and he spun her around, her laugh ringing in his ears like the most beautiful song. _She’s all right, goddess, she’s all right,_ he thought, setting her down and cradling the back of her head.

Sylvain reluctantly ended the hug so Ingrid could address the quiet man waiting behind him. Felix had never been one for physical affection, not even as a kid, and more than once had he attacked him in what had probably become a reflex action to fend off unwanted touches. However, deep within him as it may be, he still had a soft side for his closest companions and returned Ingrid’s embrace, albeit awkwardly. Sylvain snorted, endeared by the attempt.

“How did you know we were here?” Happiness dripped off Ingrid’s voice. “I couldn’t send any messengers!”

“You must be joking,” Felix said, a perplexed look on his face. “It’s such an obvious choice, it’s unbelievable your family hasn’t found you yet. You can’t be so careless.”

Ingrid smiled. “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry for making you worry, and thank you.”

Felix huffed, looking away in a poor attempt to hide his own grin.

Before any of the three could say anything further, the boy Ingrid had been tutoring dropped his weapon with a heavy thud and rushed towards them, his green gaze wide in excitement. “Uncle!”

Sylvain caught Isaac and tossed him in the air playfully, both of them breaking into a fit of giggles. “Hey, buddy! Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you! You’ll soon be taller than me at this pace!” he said, realizing that he had become the cheesy old relative who commented on the kids’ growth every time they reunited. It was just so hard to believe that Isaac was already four.

When he lowered him to the ground, the child turned to meet Felix’s natural grimace and tensed up, resorting to a formal bow that Ingrid had surely helped him practice. Felix stayed still for a moment, but he eventually gave in to the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair.

Ingrid looked at the back of her leg, which the girl who had been watching Isaac train had silently claimed as her hideout. “Julia, sweetie, go give your uncles a hug.”

Felix hunched his shoulders, bracing for a calamity, and Julia glanced at the two men with uncertainty in her huge gray eyes.

Although he was amused, Sylvain decided to put an end to their torture. “Nah, it’s OK, Ing.” He crouched to be at Julia’s height, who recoiled further, hiding beneath her brown locks. A part of him cursed the fact that she resembled her father so much, but he promptly dismissed it and waved. “Hey there.”

Julia held her tiny fist to her chin, but he could have sworn a smile tugged at her lips.

“You escaped, didn’t you? Why?” An impatient Felix asked Ingrid.

Her gaze flickered between her children and the ground beneath her. “It was no longer safe for them there. We…had to sneak out during the night.”

“I kept really quiet when I got out, like Mom said,” Isaac chimed in, his head held high. “Julia too!”

Ingrid’s surprise melted into a look of fondness. “And that was very brave of you, honey. You were just like the great hero Bardolph.” She put her hand on his shoulder and wagged an admonishing finger. “But great heroes need lots of training. How about you go show your sister what you have learned while Mom speaks with the uncles?”

Isaac gaped like he had heard the most brilliant idea ever. “Yeah!” He grabbed an unsuspecting Julia by the wrist and pulled her towards the straw dummies.

When they were out of earshot, Felix crossed his arms. “OK, now you can talk.”

The trio sat in front of the hearth, like they used to do back when they were students and later soldiers stationed at the monastery. Ingrid’s visage darkened as she talked about the unsettling, black-clad Crest examiners, who Sylvain remembered all too well. She spoke of her meeting with Dimitri concerning the suspicious plague among the western towns, and how an increasing number of mages arrived at Reiner Manor. 

“I have no doubt that those warlocks were the same ones we faced back in Enbarr. Those who experimented with the people of Remire and Edelgard.” Ingrid reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of dark cloth with a circular design reminiscent of an eye. “This was embroidered in one of their robes. I believe it is the emblem of their organization, though it could be a fake.”

Felix studied the symbol before returning his attention to her. “Why were they in your territory?”

“I don’t know. Philip never explained it properly to me. He just told me that he was indebted to them, and…” Ingrid clenched the fabric of her trousers. “That he would allow them to experiment on Julia.”

“What?! His own daughter?!” Sylvain stood up, the fury that had been arising in his core finally combusting. “Ingrid, you can’t go back to him. He couldn’t care less about you or the kids if he’s willing to risk your safety like that.”

For a terrifying second, he feared she might argue. After all, Ingrid had ceded precious years of her life to this arrangement, and it would devastate her to throw away her effort.

She sighed. “I agree, and I don’t want them to associate with a man of such questionable allegiances.”

A wave of relief surged through him. He felt ridiculous for thinking, even for an instant, that Ingrid would tolerate _that_ much.

“That’s why I have a favor to ask you two,” she said as she rose to her feet.

Sylvain exchanged a glance with Felix. Then, they stared at her in silent anticipation.

Ingrid took a deep breath. “Please, will you take care of Isaac and Julia while I travel to Fhirdiad? If I can inform His Majesty about the situation in person, we may be able to discover more about these people and finally eliminate the threat to the villages.” She looked at her fidgeting hands in her lap, the smallest of smiles on her lips. “And… House Galatea may cut ties with House Reiner, ally of Imperial supporters, forever.”

Sylvain froze, mulling over those words.

She… She would be free. _They would be free._

“Wait.” Felix held his hand out in front of him. “Surely you don’t think you can make the journey alone.” When she didn’t respond, his voice became taut. “Ingrid, dozens of soldiers are out there looking for you. Besides, you have dedicated yourself to the languid housewife lifestyle for way too long, and it shows.” He cruelly gestured to her more fragile build. They all knew that she had been forced to decrease the intensity of her training regimen.

While he would not put it like Felix had, Sylvain couldn’t deny his claim. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. It’s way too dangerous.”

Ingrid stood tall, meeting her friends with a glare that voiced her desire for a challenge. “I’m aware, but there is nothing that you could do to change my mind. I won’t allow them to take what I love from me anymore.”

Sylvain couldn’t help a budding joy. So much had happened over these last years, so many hardships had threatened to consume them, and yet Ingrid confronted each one with unwavering resolve. Her will had proven to be unbreakable, which he couldn’t be more thankful for.

“We never said we would stop you,” Felix took the words right out of his mouth. “We’ll go with you.”

Sylvain gave a firm nod. “Seteth will be the most intense nanny the little guys have ever seen… Oh, but Flayn will be ecstatic! We gotta tell them!”

“You focus on writing to your father,” Felix grunted. “Can’t imagine he would be delighted to take on your work without prior notice.”

He waved dismissively. “His temper is more manageable. Being at a ripe old age is making him weirdly sentimental, you know?”

As both men prepared to leave the hall, Sylvain realized that Ingrid had been staring at them, her mouth hanging slightly open. “Ing? Is something up?”

“You… You would truly do this?” she muttered, as if unware that Sylvain would move heaven and earth for her. As if she didn’t realize that she was the only person who actually made him want to do such a thing.

Felix graced them with one of those rare grins he didn’t bother to conceal. “We depart at daybreak.”

Ingrid brought her clasped hands up as tears began swelling up in her eyes. Sylvain and Felix stumbled back when she threw her arms around their necks, her small frame masking a strength that remained quite impressive, but they quickly relaxed into her embrace.

“Thank you so much,” she laughed, tightening her hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, I was so happy to have this little childhood trio back together! Felix is so fun to write! :D Brace yourselves for the next chapter, guys. It's gonna get even cheesier than this.


	9. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after returning from Fhirdiad, Sylvain and Ingrid wonder about the paths that they should take next.

Garreg Mach always changed as the sun set and a starlit mantle engulfed the sky. It was peaceful—even more so than when Sylvain studied at the Officers Academy, and certainly more relaxing than when the constant threat of the war meant unfathomable dangers could hide in the darkness. Dimitri could have given him a hundred lectures for roaming the streets until dawn, and he would not deny that he occasionally ran off to find some fun, but he had also grown fond of his solitary strolls along the monastery grounds.

Sylvain walked towards the greenhouse, carefully cut grass crunching beneath his boots. It had been just over a month since he had come with Felix in search of Ingrid and her children, but it felt like a lifetime ago, especially when a teary-eyed Isaac and a wailing Julia finally held their seemingly irretrievable mother in the tightest hug. Sylvain could only watch, his heart swelling with both happiness at their reunion and fury at destiny itself for depriving the kids of both of their parents, even if Ingrid was able to return to them.

He sighed. It was for the best that they stayed as far away as possible from their father. The trio's difficult travel to the capital had borne more than ideal results—being under house arrest must be driving Baron Reiner mad, and the Kingdom Knights would discover the truth about his connections with Imperial allies before long. A big part of Sylvain hungered to partake in the investigation, but Dimitri had dispatched reliable soldiers. Besides, he didn't trust himself to remain calm in the presence of that despicable man. Even if he didn't take the Lance of Ruin with him or went unarmed, the war had taught him that pretty much anything could be a weapon if thrown with enough force.

Near the fishing pond, high-pitched laughter burgeoned among the quietude. He instantly recognized the small figures of Ingrid's children crouching near the edge of the dock, pointing towards the shadows of some of the bigger fish that the moonlight made visible. Julia reached for one that piqued her interest, but, in a protective manner that reminded him of Ingrid, her brother held her back just as her fingers brushed the water.

Concern crept up on Sylvain. It was late, the kids were in their nightclothes and he would not put it behind them to have developed some creative techniques to elude their mother's vigilance. He was just about to hurry to them when a flash of blonde hair from atop the stairs caught his attention.

He went towards it instead.

"Well, look who's here!" He announced himself loudly.

Ingrid's head shot up from where she was cushioning it on her palm. Although he felt bad for interrupting her moment of repose, it wasn't usual to catch her off-guard, and her cute expression of surprise was a great consolation.

There was no way he could pass up the opportunity to tease her further. "And the kiddos… Shouldn't you be dragging them to their rooms?" He put a hand on his hip. "I'm sure it's past their bedtime."

She frowned, but a tiny smile revealed her amusement. "Oh, hush. They look quite pleased with themselves over there, so I figured I would let them stay awake for a while longer."

Sylvain almost said something along the lines of how the biggest worrywart was beginning to see the wonders of spoiling her children, but he considered her statement for a moment. The sudden and drastic change in Isaac and Julia's lives had affected them in ways he couldn't begin to imagine.

He sat beside Ingrid, his forearms resting on his legs, and asked softly, "How are they faring?"

She took a deep breath, straightening her posture. "Isaac couldn't possibly be happier. He was always bored back in the estate, and…" She glanced towards the floor. "Well, there's not much that he misses."

While that wasn't surprising, it was still enraging. The Crestless boy apparently wasn't worth his father's time, and so he probably never had the chance to build a meaningful relationship with him.

He recalled a young Miklan, sitting alone or begging his parents to play with him, only to receive annoyed scoffs as a response.

"Julia, however…" Ingrid continued, snapping him out of his memories. "She was asking about her father when we returned."

His face must have fallen, since Ingrid smiled sympathetically and held out a hand in front of her.

"Don't worry." She looked towards the dock, where Isaac lay on his back and pointed at several constellations with a finger, Julia's gaze following with amazement. "I'm just glad her brother is keeping her mind off of everything."

In all these years that Isaac had been pushed aside in favor of his Crest-bearing sibling, Sylvain had never sensed a drop of spitefulness in the boy's behavior. He could get jealous, sure, because it was natural for a kid to yearn for his parents' attention. Yet he had never acted on his hatred, instead choosing to defend and share his knowledge of the world with his younger sister.

It was more than Sylvain could have asked for, and he couldn't help giving Ingrid a charming grin. "He's a gallant knight, just like his mother."

As expected, she rolled her eyes. "You won't ever cease with the flattery, will you?"

"I'm afraid some things can never be helped."

They let the silence reign again, the playful banter of the kids interlaced with the symphony of nocturnal sounds. Although Sylvain wasn't particularly religious, he took a second to thank the goddess. If Ingrid hadn't attained custody of the children, he was certain she would have gone into hiding or even fled Fódlan altogether to keep them safe, but being a close friend of the King and a trustworthy guardian had its benefits. They should be able to carry out their lives in freedom and peace.

Nevertheless, he knew that their troubles weren't over. An aching feeling warned him of enemies that would soon strike, of a war left incomplete. Sooner or later, the margrave would be required to mobilize his forces in defense of the country.

He wondered about the role that Ingrid would fulfill in the future.

"So, what now?" he asked.

She let out a lungful of air. "Hmm, 'what now' indeed," she pondered, leaning back into a more comfortable position. "House Reiner might lose its noble status after betraying the Kingdom. They are no longer giving us financial aid, naturally…"

He kept quiet, allowing her to finish voicing her expectations.

"I suppose I will have to return to Galatea and deal with another wave of marriage proposals," she spoke after a while. "Of course, there would be fewer, considering the fact that a single mother is not as desirable a bride…"

"You can't be serious."

It was only when she tilted her head up to look at him that Sylvain noticed that he had stood up, his tone acquiring an uncommon seriousness. _There is no way._

Her lips formed a hard line, and he braced himself for what she would say next. "I am."

She spoke forlornly, like this horrific fate was the most expected answer. Like this same decision hadn't led her down a path of misery.

It cut him like the sharpest dagger.

"Ingrid, are you really going to do this to yourself a second time?" When he realized that his voice kept rising, he pinched the bridge of his nose. _Deep breaths._ "OK, one of your crazy suitors tried to kidnap you years ago, the one who actually managed to succeed was literally affiliated with the enemy of our country, and you're just gonna shrug that off and try again? Can't you give a little importance to what you actually want?"

She stared at him, her bewilderment undeterred. Among his anger, an urge to apologize for his outburst arose, but she sighed before he could say anything else.

"There's nothing I would love more than that," she admitted. "But… Look."

Following her gesture, he sat beside her once again and beheld the scene that unfolded near the pond. Isaac was peering into a bucket when Julia rammed her fist inside, splashing water all over her brother. He caught hold of her and almost immediately exacted his revenge in a fierce tickle fight that saw the both of them bursting into a fit of giggles. The ire that had consumed Sylvain shortly before faded away, like these two had inherited Ingrid's ability to put him at ease.

"Look at them playing and laughing…" Her eyes shone with newfound mirth that somehow made her even more gorgeous. He could merely guess that it was a gleam only a loving mother could bear. "They can grow up in a world free of war, of hunger. I want to keep being able to give them this life."

 _But you shouldn't have to destroy your own to do that,_ he wanted to say.

She turned towards him slightly, but her gaze lingered downwards. "Do you remember what you told me before my wedding ceremony?" He hadn't so much as shaken his head before she continued, "You said that I deserved so much more than just half a year of being a knight. I suppose I should have been more selfish back when I actually could. But now, I would be glad to give up my dreams again if it meant that they would grow up happy."

Sylvain had spent almost every single one of his days surrounded by soldiers, whether it was his instructors at the academy, his peers in the anti-Imperial army or the battalions he commanded at the margravate.

All of them paled in comparison to the woman sitting in front of him, the most compassionate, virtuous, infuriatingly altruistic knight that the world had ever known.

"Although…" she unexpectedly began again. Her green eyes met his with the same resolve that she displayed during every battle, but a peculiar gentleness coated her features. "I would like to be selfish for just a short moment, if you will allow it."

Before Sylvain could ask her what she meant, before he could even utter a word, Ingrid held his face in her hands and pulled his lips towards hers.

For an instant, time stopped. Chilly winds no longer blew and the crickets' songs ceased. Like she had frozen him, his body kept deathly still as his mind raced in frantic attempts to process the situation.

He had barely managed to register that Ingrid really, truly was kissing him when she broke away. The absence of her feather-light touch burned at his skin, and he cursed himself for not taking the opportunity to bask in her taste.

The load in his chest grew into a throbbing pulse when her eyelids fluttered open, a rosy tint setting on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with the softest of laughs. "I'm going to take the children to bed."

Reality hit him like a violent slap when he realized, a little too late, that she had begun to stand up. Without thinking, his hand shot up to grab her wrist.

"W-Wait, Ingrid!" he spluttered, yanking her back to where she had been sitting with way more force than he had intended. She stared at him, wide-eyed and expectant, and an apology got stuck in his throat. "What was— Did you— Do you, uh…"

A sheepish grin made its way onto her flushed features. "I-I promised that I would be honest with myself, now that I can."

Sylvain knew her. Kissing someone without it meaning anything could happen—he had experienced it firsthand, but this was a side of Ingrid that she showed to a select few. It was vulnerable, tender, and more than enough proof of her true feelings.

Yet his heart skipped a beat when the ghost of a spoken declaration, those three words that carried such an immense weight in them, grazed her mouth. _I love you._

Instead, she bit her lower lip, averting her gaze. "I'm sorry. We can just pretend that this never happened."

"No!" he practically squeaked, his voice betraying him in a way that rekindled the fire on his cheeks. "No. You just, ah, surprised me, is all. I, um…" _Oh, Seiros,_ he thought. _This is not the time to become a bumbling mess!_

Ingrid tried and failed to stifle a laugh, and Sylvain couldn't tell if he should feel relieved or mortified. The one thing that he knew was that the color of his face probably matched his hair's.

"It's unusual to see you at such a loss for words," she said.

"Wha— Hey! Ugh, I don't… Just..." He inhaled deeply, opened his mouth, and again heard nothing. Only a frustrated groan came out as he ran his fingers through his messy locks, wishing he were experiencing the fear of standing outside the Enbarr gates instead of this gut-wrenching terror.

When a soothing warmth nestled against his knee, he looked up to find Ingrid holding onto him with a hand. Her smile was not belittling nor mocking, but patient, quality that had best described her since childhood. With just a weary regard that braced for a rejection, she noiselessly told him that everything was all right, that she would wait.

But Sylvain had made her wait for long enough. If he could not talk, his actions would in his stead.

He rifled through layers of clothing for his leather collar and quickly unraveled it, holding onto both ends of the cord. Ingrid squinted at the precious item that hung from it.

She gasped, and he knew that she had recognized the ring's Crest of Gautier.

"Is that…?" she trailed off, and if she hadn't been right in front of him, her mutter might have been lost among the breeze.

At last, the raging tempest in his mind slowed down, and he caught hold of what he hoped was a decently coherent chain of thought. "Ingrid, there was so much—so much I wanted to tell you that night before you left the monastery. I wanted to tell you that you're my best friend, the person who understands me the most, even though you want to strangle me half the time because of all the trouble I drag us into."

He glanced at the antique marriage token before he stared directly at Ingrid, whose blush had dimmed into a paleness that capped her shock. Like a dam's gates had flown open, the truths that he had been restraining deep within him flooded out, as if they knew that this was their one chance to break free.

"The answer to your dilemma was right there, right in front of me," he said, recalling the tightness he had felt in his throat on the day she had departed for Galatea, "but I couldn't get the words out of my mouth. I don't intend to make that mistake again."

Her eyes darted back and forth between the ring and his face. "Sylvain… You— You can't, I…" her voice hitched. "You always hated that people only wanted you for your power or your Crest. I don't want to use you, Sylvain. You deserve so much more than that."

She sounded so caring, so _worried_ for him, as if unable to bear the prospect of taking his agency away, of dragging him into the life of submission that she had suffered through.

Little did she realize, this was exactly what he wanted.

"I know you won't use me." He smirked. It was so obvious; it was kind of funny that someone as intelligent as Ingrid couldn't see it.

"How are you so sure?"

"Because it's you, Ingrid. I love you." _At last,_ he had said it.

She reeled back slightly.

Sylvain gathered every bit of courage left in him. "I don't think I even realized it at the time, but…Ingrid, you make this hell of a mess we call life actually worth it. Seiros, you even made me enjoy school," he laughed, "and kept me sane during a war. I want to fight by your side again, to see you become the greatest knight in all of Faerghus, and to be with you as the kids grow up."

For a moment, only the familiar harmony of their home, the monastery, prevailed. He reached for her hands and found that they had become calloused again, likely from their arduous journey to Fhirdiad. They were a warrior's. They were Ingrid's.

He would not change them for the world.

Placing the ring on her open palm, he looked her in the eye. "That's why… Ingrid, will you marry me?"

The next few seconds drew out to become the longest in his life. His heart pounded so hard, he was certain that she could hear it.

Ingrid nodded once. Then, twice. Her lips curled up into the biggest smile, tears flowing down her face.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, yes."

Many times before, Sylvain had felt content. Yet this was a joy unlike any other, one that he could have sworn only existed in fiction and dreams.

He yanked her towards him and plunged his mouth into hers. Her rigid form quickly eased up in his hold, her fingers running up to tangle in his hair. Their current nearness suddenly didn't suffice any longer, and, eager for more of the warm and blissful feeling that surged through him, he moved his hand from her back to her head, messing up her braid as he pulled her closer. He took in her scent, memorized the curves of her body against his, and felt like the luckiest man to ever exist.

They were both panting when he broke away. He was afraid he might have gone overboard, but Ingrid's tender laughter alleviated his worries, and he touched his forehead to hers.

"Finally," he breathed, more to himself than to his surroundings.

"It's just like you to be late, you know," she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He returned her smile. "Better late than never."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEEEEESSS I was so excited to unleash the fluff! Sorry, I know some of you wanted to see the trio's journey to Fhirdiad, but I hope you'll enjoy this regardless. This chapter turned out to be waaay longer than I anticipated, which might say a bit about how much I love these two :')


	10. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine years later, while on a decisive military campaign, Ingrid reflects on her life with Sylvain.

_Blue Sea Moon, Year 1200._

_Dear Mother & Father,_

_How are you? If I'm correct, by the time you get this letter, you will be nearing the eastern mountains in the old Hrym territory. I know you went out on an important, serious mission and all, but I hope you're having fun in your travels anyway._

_Things are all fine here in Fhirdiad. It's so boring! Believe it or not, Isaac has been taking his wyvern riding lessons seriously for the past few weeks. Although, if you ask me, he's just showing off for that girl in his class who I told you about. And it worked! Last month, she ran up to him and gave him one of the prettiest garlands I've ever seen! (I know you're pouting, Dad, but don't worry. The ones you make for Mom are still the prettiest.) Don't tell Isaac I said this, by the way. He has no idea that we know about his girlfriend. Anyway, my uncle and sisters are also doing all right. The little bean still cries a lot and the twins got tangled up in a bedsheet the other day after insisting on helping us with the laundry, but there have been no explosions in the kitchen this time, so I'm satisfied._

_As for me, I've been studying a lot from the book that you gave me, Mom. It's such a great gift! Did you know that the Seraphim are celestial beings that protect the goddess? That's why the spell is perfect for fighting monsters! I can't wait to master it and all of the others in this book so that I can go with you on all your missions. I forgot to tell you this before you left, but please say hello to my aunts and uncles for me (though I guess you've got that covered already, Mom). And give the biggest hugs to Aunt Annette and Aunt Mercedes! I've been practicing the spells that they taught me a bunch. Isaac might tell you that I hit him with a lightning spell, but I swear that I cast Physics correctly that time._

_We're all missing you so much. Of course you'll be fine—you're the greatest knights in the world—but please take care of yourselves. Besides, I still need to beat Dad at chess! You've absolutely been letting me win those last few times that we played. So, go defeat the bad guys and return home safely, all right?_

_See you soon,_

_Julia Audhild Gautier_

✧

Having finished reading the message out loud, Ingrid set the piece of parchment on her lap and tilted her head up only to be met with the ridiculous, absolutely adorable sight of her sniffling husband.

"Aw, love," she giggled, reaching up to give him a peck on his cheek.

Sylvain dabbed at his tears. "What? I'm an emotional guy," he said as he tightened their hug. "I just miss them a lot, you know."

"Yes," she whispered. "I do too."

As she nuzzled against him, Ingrid supposed it was likely that the two of them had grown spoiled. All soldiers had to forfeit precious bonds and leisure activities to fulfil their duties, but His Majesty, caring as ever, had ensured that even his royal guard spent as much time as possible with their families. Now, as the months passed without her children at her side, she sampled the pain embedded in every knight's life.

She wouldn't have it any other way, however. If they could eradicate the enemy base, then they would certainly, _finally_ put an end to this devastating conflict, to the suffering that had plagued Fódlan since ancient times.

This same vision of a peaceful future had reunited the Blue Lions, like it had back when the Empire's victory seemed imminent. Just outside Ingrid and Sylvain's tent, among the torches' embers, Dedue and Ashe discussed the best dishes to prepare with the ingredients that they had. Annette's attempt to carry several pieces of firewood at once failed miserably and with loud thuds, after which Mercedes rushed to her aid and Felix so very nicely chastised her while checking for injuries. It was almost unreal, having their whole class together yet again, but their lively banter assured her that this was no fantasy. Lulling her into a happiness that many would have assumed unachievable in wartime, it almost made her forget about what was absent.

Sylvain plopped his chin onto the top of her head. A puff of air ruffled her hair, which she recognized as a sigh.

"Do you think they'll be OK?" he asked.

Ingrid turned to see him. In truth, she hadn't been preoccupied with her kids subsisting in their absence as much as she had just been longing to see them. "You don't trust Julia?"

"What— No!" His confusion morphed into concern. "I mean… What if she stays up too late studying again? Or the twins steal another pegasus?" He straightened his posture, his eyes wide in alarm. "Or-or Isaac runs off with his girl during the night! I'll have you know that's a very real possibility—"

She cupped his face and captured his blathering lips with her own, effectively silencing him. He didn't seem to take offense, though, since he grinned against her mouth before he held her closer and returned her kiss. Even after all these years, his sweetness had not diminished, nor had the heat that overtook her failed to spark joyful peace.

When they broke away, she couldn't hold back her satisfaction at her husband's dumb, love-struck look. They had done far more risqué things than kiss, and yet he always seemed to turn back into a blushing teenager when he savored a tinge of her taste.

"Were you just trying to shut me up?" he nailed it. _The witty dolt._ "If so, that was very rude of you, Lady Galatea."

"Hmm, maybe so," she laughed as she sat back against his chest, guiding his arms to rest around her shoulders. "In all seriousness, you shouldn't worry so much. Surely my brother has everything under control."

While the eldest of the three was busy managing their lands in Galatea, her second older sibling had kindly offered to care for the kids. They were a rowdy bunch, sure, but nothing that he couldn't handle.

Although his smirk hadn't disappeared, Sylvain still clicked his tongue in a manner that exuded uncertainty. "I guess, but I don't think I'll be able to sleep soundly tonight anyway."

"Now who's the worrywart?"

"You've rubbed off on me way too much."

The pair sat in silence for a while. As the rhythm of their breaths synced and her husband's heartbeat sang its soothing melody, Ingrid reveled in this homelike shelter amidst the ruthless world that often snatched away what she valued most. Maybe that was why she had developed a habit of thanking the goddess every day for seemingly small matters; just as easily as they had come to her, she could have never caught sight of their radiance.

Her thoughts wandered back to the war council of that evening, and the report that confirmed the presence of Kingdom soldiers among the troops underground. One of them even led a battalion that guarded the entrance to their city and struck like death itself, quick and unrelenting. A squire managed to survive his forces' encounter with them, and his description of the enemy commander had been nothing less than bone-chilling.

An imposing figure atop his black wyvern, the mention of this lord with tanned skin and tousled brown hair elicited a single image in her mind.

It was unlikely that this warrior was her first spouse. None had deciphered how the baron escaped from his arrest, much less discovered his whereabouts, but the option hung over her like a pest.

The passage of time hadn't given Ingrid an answer on how to truly feel about him. Philip had practically rebuilt the war-ravaged Galatea with his riches and given her two of her beautiful children, which she couldn't be more thankful for. With his proficiency on the battlefield and his ardent desire to defend Faerghus, he could have turned out a legendary hero in a better life.

Yet, just as he had never loved her, she couldn't ever bring herself to harbor any kind of deep fondness towards him. Everything done in their marriage, down to the most intimate details, was for the sole purpose of fulfilling a duty that their roles had foisted upon them. For a while, she had entertained the idea that she might not be capable of entrusting her heart to someone, not after she held it in her hands for Glenn to take it, only to never feel the gentleness of his touch or hear the embarrassment in his voice again. His passing had left behind a wound that she had tried desperately to heal. It still hadn't.

But Sylvain?

He made her laugh when she couldn't find one reason to smile. He saw their Crestless children for who they were, to the point of fighting relentlessly with Kingdom nobility to ensure Isaac's position as the heir of Gautier. With incredible patience and understanding, he had helped her rediscover herself, to understand that it was all right to share her emotions.

Now, cozy in his hold, Ingrid no longer had to be a silenced housewife, a tool in human's clothing, nor a bloodstained bride, forever in wait of her dead beloved.

One word, while not nearly enough, encompassed what her husband was to her. _Wonderful._

She had almost drifted off when a motion beneath her roused her from slumber. Sylvain carefully untangled his arm and reached for another letter that he had received earlier, the one with the Crest of Gautier as its now-opened seal. His hand only lay on top, like unsure of pulling out its contents again.

"Was it from your father?" she asked.

He tensed up, maybe because he had been expecting her to be asleep, yet she sensed his disquiet at her question. Although it was pretty clear who the sender was, she wasn't about to broach the subject if it proved to be too difficult for him.

"It's all right." She turned to meet his gaze. "You don't need to tell me."

"No, no," he mumbled, his tone anxious but gentle. "It's just… He's not really getting better."

Her heart sunk, any words of encouragement she might have offered dying in her throat. She gave his hand a light squeeze, hoping it could convey at least a fraction of her affection.

He sighed with a mirthless grin. "To be honest, I had a feeling this would happen the moment I heard he'd gotten sick. But he's really worried about what will become of Gautier territory once he…once he's gone."

Ingrid stared at him. Despite Sylvain still resenting the damage brought upon by his father's actions, that which no amounts of time could erase, his teary eyes bore a glint that spoke of the love he had for him. A part of her despised the fact that he cared so much for the people that had tormented him—her fuzzy memory of his brother surfacing in her head—but she understood his burdens as he did hers.

She brought a thumb up to wipe away his tears. "Then I suppose we should start packing as soon as we return to Fhirdiad."

"What?"

She huffed out a laugh. "You were margrave once, for a while. If there is anyone worthy of upholding your father's legacy… Well, I think it would be you."

"Ingrid, but— We won't be able to guard His Majesty from so far away." He paused, realization falling upon him. "Oh, no. No, no, you can't— What about being a knight in service of a lord?!" he exclaimed. "You've always wanted that!"

Her smile only widened. "And I've fulfilled that dream already. This one shall be my grand, climactic battle by my lord's side. But, after that, I'd like to help you look after your people. And…"

"And?"

She shrugged. "I don't think I mind, either way. I'm happy as long as I'm with you."

His mouth fell open. A blush was beginning to spread across his features, coloring them the same shade as his hair, but he quickly buried his face in his hands. "Ingrid, how— How do you say stuff like that without even flinching?!"

She giggled, her own cheeks burning up. Only he made her say the most embarrassing things. "I guess you've rubbed off on me, too."

He beamed, boyish and shy, before leaning in for a soft kiss. "Goddess, you're wonderful."

"Ingrid, Sylvain!"

At the sound of Dimitri's voice, the couple looked over to their tent's entrance. The Savior King had cast aside his royal armor in favor of a pair of trousers and a shirt, comparable to any other soldier at rest. Beside him, their old professor wore a similar attire that hid her status as archbishop under the image of a renowned mercenary, as she had been long ago. Both were holding plates of delicious-looking food, mild steam coming off of it.

"Come along, now!" Dimitri beckoned them with childlike enthusiasm. "You're missing the best stew you'll ever taste!"

Byleth's smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. "If you don't hurry, we may help ourselves to your shares."

A particular warmth enveloped Ingrid. The seemingly unending war raged beyond the confines of their small camp and its remnants would weigh on her for years, perhaps forever, yet distress no longer consumed her.

Here, among their loved ones' joys and sorrows, free from expectations and lies, they had built a home.

And there was no greater honor than protecting it by his side.

Sylvain stood up, reaching out a hand to her. "Shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’ve finally reached the end! I hope you all enjoyed reading the story as much as I did writing it ^^ It’s been such an amazing journey and I truly can’t thank you enough for all your support! 
> 
> Since you’ve stuck with me for so long, I wanted to talk to you a bit about the fic and why it’s really dear to me, aside from the fact that it’s my first work on ao3. In-game, Ingrid was willing to marry even a stranger for her family, which was a big inspiration (the story is kind of a what-if scenario), but it’s actually based a bit on the life of my great grandmother. She was married off to a man who I was told abused her pretty badly, but, after his death, she married her childhood best friend, whom she had always truly loved. I unfortunately never got to meet either of them, but my family always speaks about what wonderful people they were. So, yeah! Ingrid and Sylvain are kind of like what I imagine they would have been like together :)
> 
> I also wanted to apologize for the weird grammar and spelling scattered throughout the story. As you might have noticed, English isn’t my first language. (Fun fact: My friends always ask me why I don’t usually write in Spanish and...well...truth is, I just kind of articulate my ideas better in English, for some reason. Don’t get me wrong, your language is a blazing hot mess, but it’s also really pretty.) I also didn’t have a beta reader because I honestly didn’t expect such huge amounts of love for this story, but I promise to deliver more polished writing in the future. It’s the least I can do!
> 
> Anyway, thank you so, SO much again for everything! Even though I absolutely adore to see your feedback and/or criticism (special thanks to everyone who commented; I assure you, you’ve made me squeal with happiness or at least smile like a dummy), I also really appreciate those silent readers that enjoy the story nonetheless. I have a few fics planned for next, so I hope you’ll be looking forward to some more doses of angst and fluff :D (I need to contribute to the felannie tag, of course~)
> 
> Love always,
> 
> Ayu


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